


Chapter 8 - Who's In Trouble Now?

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28383909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Kudos: 5
Collections: The Trouble in Times Square Affair





	Chapter 8 - Who's In Trouble Now?

_Napoleon couldn’t remember a crazier Christmas, and he had a few to choose from. This one was truly bizarre. His mind was trying to locate some other time when his favorite holiday had been hijacked by a lunatic when he located the camera he knew had been tracking him and Illya through the woods._

As Alexander Waverly watched his agent investigate the camera lens, a small smile crept across his face. He was going to enjoy this little ‘interview’ with the Claibornes. The Old Man might look the part of an aging English gentleman, but beneath the tweeds and the pleasant demeanor was an old, wily fox, and the couple in front of him, with their caviar and wine, had good reason to stand in fear before the Chief of UNCLE Northwest and beyond. 

Have his job indeed! What they had was his attention, and that could be a very dangerous position in which to find oneself.

The lights beyond the shop’s exterior were still being reflected on the bottles and crystal inside. Extravagant trappings for the truly wealthy and their nouveau riche neighbors gave the Claiborne business the appearance of class and sophistication. What it disguised was a business that harbored vile and inhumane trafficking of human cargo. Randall Claiborne had long ago discovered that people would pay for cheap labor that asked no questions and dared not complain. 

Exotic women were dressed in fine clothing and housed in elegant surroundings, but never allowed to travel alone. Young men were exploited by unloved women who justified their lust and greed by giving money to charities that claimed to make a difference in the world. 

While the world slept, an underworld fueled by the money of wealthy, sometimes famous people, held captives and bartered human lives for primitive cravings. It was ageless, even children were enslaved without any hope of freedom from the nightmares they had been thrust into by the likes of Randall and Marjorie Claiborn

Alexander Waverly waited for Randall Claiborne to answer the ringing phone. The younger man’s hand was shaking, his entire world at stake as he reached for it. How could he avoid the outcome? On the other end was a killer, could the hit be extended to include Waverly, might he still be rescued from what was surely in store for him?

The lights were suddenly a macabre display that illuminated his life, his grief at losing Catherine… Randall thought he might throw up. In fractions of seconds his life spilled out before him, his wife was on the verge of hysterics and he was terrified of the man he had sent to kill Solo and Kuryakin. All of this reckoning transpired as he reached for the phone. Picking it up, his voice was a whisper as he said…

_“Hello.”_

Agent Collier Adams, the first man on the scene of this affair, had applied a device to the telephone that served as a speaker; everyone in the room could hear the entire conversation. The voice on the other end spoke, no trace of nerves or suspicion was evident.

“Mister Claiborne, your business has become quite a nuisance to me. One of the men is now in a hospital, and the other is… well, let’s say he’s in my scope as we speak. I’ll call back in thirty minutes and ask you for an answer to this question: Do you still want Napoleon Solo dead?”

Everyone heard the click as the phone was hung up. Claiborne’s expression went from one of simple fear to sheer terror. There was nothing now between him and whatever this man Waverly would do to him.

The UNCLE Chief sat down and opened a worn briefcase, removing a file upon which he had boldly written the name Claiborne. Randall and Marjorie saw that, blanching in unison as they began to realize their lives were most probably hanging in the balance. Nearly forgetting their daughter’s death, the both of them now began to engage the most horrendous of possibilities they were certain to be facing… very soon.

_Having established, to his satisfaction, that he and Illya had definitely been observed and tracked during their wilderness experience here on this property, Napoleon pulled out the high beam flashlight given to him by Nick. The would-be Santa had pulled it from the toolbox in the back of his truck, along with a hefty crowbar that would make quick work of anything, or anyone, in its path._

_Napoleon didn’t have the advantage of any communication with his boss, but suspicions of devious behavior on the part of the Claibornes were nagging at him now. No one else would have a motive for what he and his partner had endured, something he surmised from being hijacked on the way to see the couple._

_“A helicopter, for cryin’ out loud. Who does that?”_

_The question was uttered aloud, and it was answered with a blow to the back of Napoleon’s head._


End file.
